Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the Elder Scrolls series; Vaelena and Carmiene are my OC's. Bethesda Softworks owns all rights to the Elder Scrolls I-V. Big thank you to the Imperial Library and the Elder Scrolls Wiki for double-checks on lore and history. Feel free to correct me on improperly used lore, feedback is encouraged and appreciated!
The Elder Scrolls
Imperial City Talos Plaza District, 5 Heartfire 5E 354
Vaelena cursed the day, the stars, and the vow she had made to return to the gods-forsaken city that had stolen so much of her life. She pulled her dark cowl tighter around her hair, and the safety of the shadow it cast across her face amplified the feeling of security provided by her illusion magics and the waning light of the sinking sun. This was the last place on Nirn she wished to be recognized.
The Aldmeri had long ago claimed their birthright as heirs to the beauty and wealth of Tamriel, and had with that claim put the lesser races in their place as the invaders of their beautiful continent. The Ayleid graces shined upon their gleaming white city built around the ruins of what the Altmer called the "Old City," the remains of the rings the Imperials had constructed around the glorious White-Gold Tower, which preceded the Imperial City by thousands of years. The Old City existed as the New City's slums, home to the stubborn Imperials and Bretons who staunchly refused to give up on the dream of one day reclaiming Tamriel as their own and to the poor who could not afford to live elsewhere.
Gazing about her, memories flooded her consciousness, flashes of scenes she had struggled for two eras to forget. She knew she would not sleep within the decaying, crumbling walls overwhelmed by vines. She looked up at the star-studded sky she had once seen molten and menacing, and cursed her vows audibly.
When she reached the Hotel, she sighed. The Tiber Septim was, in its hey-day, the premier place to find lodging in the City, and she had made many visits to the high-brow Imperial hierarchy there in past eras. She smiled, her white teeth glowing in the light of the moons, and thought that its appearance finally matched its true value.
The door groaned, its rusting hinges pained by the weight of the ancient Second-Era birch and cast-iron door. The barmaid, a blonde Imperial garbed in a moth-eaten brocade-and-silk from the Imperial Golden Age, greeted her with the dripping sweetness of a shopkeeper who seldom saw a customer with legitimate capital. Vaelena pulled the hood tighter around her head, concentrating her illusions around her face, though she would never hide the glory of her golden skin.
"Welcome to the Tiber Septim Hotel," the woman said cheerfully, her crooked, yellowed teeth fully visible in a wide grin. She raised the battered mug she was wiping out with a greasy old piece of linen that looked as if it had once been clothing. "It is good to see someone of more discerning tastes in the finest hotel in the Empire. These elves may have the land now, but Talos will rise again!"
Vaelena turned toward her, and the swirling and twitching illusions of her golden face gave the barmaid's pallor an eerie glow. With a toss of hood and a conscious removal of her magicka-fueled disguise, she faced the woman with a menacing glare.
"You know nothing of the glorious Empire of which you speak, mortal. Your ignorance betrays you."
Stunned into utter silence, the woman stood motionless except for the release of both dishcloth and mug from now-limp fingers.
"You're- you're- you're-"she stammered helplessly, her words punctuated with the thud of the mug on the cracked stone floor.
"Oh, do finish, and stop stuttering, for I have been in the midst of a great identity crisis of late and would love assistance regarding that matter."
As if she had not spoken, the Imperial bowed to the ground and began the Altmer display of obeisance, and Vaelena thought that lightning might strike the White-Gold Tower if she cursed her stars one more time. She sighed as she focused her magicka once more toward her face.
"My Lady, our wonderful Commonwealth is more beautiful than— "she began, her voice trembling on every syllable.
"Do us both a favor, Imperial. Stop while you're ahead."
Dumbfounded, the woman eventually rose to her feet and nodded. "Would you care for any food or drink?" she queried, her voice faint.
"Flin, in this mug. Hot. Keep it full and you will not hear my voice again." Vaelena produced an ornate mug made of a strange orange-colored metal that had no luster, but had no rust either.
"Very good, ma'am." The Imperial whistled the former Imperial Anthem while she worked, and Vaelena could not conceal the reflexive scowl that marred her otherwise perfect features. She settled deeper into the wing-backed chair, her thoughts murderous and unpleasant, knowing she would not sleep nor even so much as rest in this accursed city. She was just imagining what the Imperial woman would look like inside out and spread across the walls as a tapestry when the front door cried out the second time. The air began to hum excitedly, and the energy in the room surged and swelled with the entrance of a tall personage garbed in a black robe not unlike her own.
Vaelena rose to greet her company, and when she turned, the hooded figure bowed.
"What theatrics you love, Ondolemar. I see the years have only added to the melodrama," Vae waved her arms wide and bent from her hips in a stage-bow. "You have missed your calling. You would make a far better actor than the ruler of an Empire."
The figure removed its hood, revealing an aristocratic brow, a dazzling smile, and the aura of royalty.
"Up to the same old tricks, I see," he responded in kind, nodding to her robe and the aggressive prickling of the afterburn of her magicka consumption. He could see right through the swirling and twitching confusion hiding her face.
"You like being hailed and worshipped, my liege, and I do not," she murmured, almost inaudibly. "Have you forgotten our agreement? Do you have them with you?"
"I am aghast that you could so easily doubt my character. Of course I remember what I promised, and since you have kept your end of our deal, I shall keep mine," he replied in a clipped tone that belied his false sarcasm and showed his hurt.
"To be Emperor, one must be conniving and deceitful."
"To win a war, a hero must sacrifice the good of individuals to the good of all," he responded immediately. "Are we here to discuss why we parted, or are we here to execute this business? I grow weary of this useless chatter. I do that at court and do not wish to do it in my leisure time."
"Show them to me, Ondolemar. You know how I have longed to see them," she said beseechingly.
He closed his eyes, and the air seemed to take on an impossible amount of life, and then suddenly froze; two more figures appeared on either side of Ondolemar, their faces as gold and fine as his, except they carried an ethereal glow about them, as if magicka ran through their veins instead of blood. Two pairs of perfect, amber eyes were transfixed on her face, and Vaelena felt as if they could see into her very soul.
"Marvelous," she whispered. "Truly."
"These are my children," he said softly, gesturing to each of his sides. "My son, heir to the throne of the mighty Aldmeri Commonwealth Empire, and my daughter, the crown jewel and rose of our people."
"I am Braelin, Crown Prince and Prime Minister of the Aldmeri Commission of the Elder Council of Tamriel," the young man, barely of age, bowed gracefully, a trained smile appearing on his flawless face.
"I am Ilinalta, Princess and Royal Minister of War and Foreign Affairs," the girl curtsied sweetly, her small frame dipping low.
"I am the handmaiden of your late mother," Vaelena said quietly.
"We never knew her," they said in unison. "Will you please tell us her story?"
"It will take weeks to tell it all."
"They have waited decades, Vaelena. Tell them of their mother," Ondolemar commanded quietly, his eyes fixed squarely on her own.
Vaelena sighed. The last thing she desired to spend her remaining time doing was reliving those awful centuries of injustice, bloodshed, cowardice, and tyranny. She'd made that promise in the bed of love, and for decades she regretted it while she shivered in her self-made isolation. Her own tarnished honor bound her to her word as roots bind life to the ground.
"As the law, the story begins where all stories begin, with the homeland…"
Mayor's Manor, Balineri, Summerset Isle, 5 Frostfall 3E432
"Carmiene! If you do not learn the value of haste in the next five minutes, Father will have our hides and they shall be his next suit of ceremonial leather armor!" her brother whined at the base of the staircase. His pleading tones echoed through the manse, the high ceilings and central dome amplifying the sound.
"You shall not expire if I take a moment more!" She pulled her hair into its token style, her elaborate braid fastened to her head in many twists and turns at the back of her head. She applied bright red lipstick to her golden lips, and pinned orchids and lavender onto her pink kimono.
"If you do not come down, I will leave you behind," he called impatiently, and his waning footsteps corroborated his declaration.
A wicked smile flashed across her youthful face, and with one last passing glance at her reflection, she ran out into the hall, grabbing the railing and jumping from the third floor with a whoop. As she fell, the dismay and shock on her brother's face made her grin all the wider. With a flash of purple light, she landed gracefully on her feet, and her brother's face contorted with rage.
"Magicka is a gift to be treasured, not a talent to be abused," Quaranir spat.
"And that blind acceptance of authority and strict adherence to unquestioned rules is precisely why you will never surpass me as a mage," cried Carmiene haughtily. "You never have any fun. What use is an ability you cannot enjoy?"
Quaranir smiled wanly in spite of himself, his anger fading. "I am too busy learning to be the future mayor to have fun. Duty before pleasure."
"Then let go for one night, Quaranir, and just be an Altmer at a party instead of mayor-elect!" Carmiene smiled tenderly at her big brother. "Mother would have been proud this night, you know. Celebrate her memory and enjoy your stupid party!"
"I believe I shall. Let us go, and have the night we shall never forget!"
He took his sister's hand, pulling her out the door and down the street, laughing and cheering into the flower-scented dusk toward city hall. The time had come for her brother to succeed her father as mayor of Balineri, in keeping with ancient Ayleid tradition. Braelin had served for five hundred years as mayor, and her older brother being the firstborn, very young at fifty, was to take his place and resume the duties for another five hundred years.
Quaranir treated his calling as a prestigious honor, one to be taken seriously, for in it was his future and livelihood. Carmiene looked at Quaranir's obligations and wished some higher, more free calling, one that would afford her the opportunity to see the world, to come and go from the Isle as she listed. She held the high hopes that her talents in the varying schools of magicka would carry her to faraway lands and to immeasurable adventure.
She felt sorry for her brother, knowing he had once dreamt misty, lofty dreams of his own, namely that he would be called to the Psijic Order. He had wanted Artaeum and the purity of Altmer magic from the time he could talk, and his life had led to the mayorship of an unimportant, unrecognized town on the southwestern end of the Isle that would require five hundred of the best years of his life, provided he lived any longer.
But she would not feel sorry this night, no, not for her brother, herself, or anyone else. Tonight was the night she would dance, sing, indulge in the many delicacies prepared, and display her beauty and talent to those who had never before laid eyes on the young woman she had become. She was no longer a little girl; she had come of age, and to her, this was her ushering in to the society that would open the doors to the rest of Tamriel. She must make an unforgettable impression.
Her head tilted higher, her hand clasped Quaranir's tighter, her steps quickened, and though her body flew down the streets of Balineri, her heart soared high above it all, her dreams lifting her aloft to see the bright and beautiful future she had so longed for. The smile she wore from the joy of her brother's elated presence and the exertion was consecrated by the richness of ambition and the fullness of hope, crowning her brow with an ethereal glow that no magic could bestow. Though her brother was the cause of the festivities, this was Carmiene's night. Every bone in her body vibrated with excitement.
They reached the hall just as the party went into full swing; their large banquet hall was decked with tapestries of the finest velvet and brocade, the purest silver candelabras, and extravagant foods paired with the finest regional liquors. The Balineri town guard were arrayed not in their usual tunics, but in Imperial plate and chain. It was all much finer than what Carmiene had imagined; Quaranir even felt some suspicion. Something must have gone terribly awry for this to be real.
"What do they mean by all this?" he whispered, his eyes flitting from his sister's face and the lush decadence surrounding them.
"I am not sure," Carmiene muttered, distrustful of the glaring brilliance coming from every angle. "This is all too much for a simple inauguration. No offense," she added after seeing the appalled look on her older sibling's handsome face.
"We must find father."
"Agreed."
Rushing to the inner ballroom of the banquet hall, hand in hand, the two stopped abruptly at the door, which was slightly ajar. Their father was shaking hands with an important-looking, rotund Imperial in lavish dress, both wearing tense smiles and murderous glares. The city guards were distinguishable from the Imperial guards only by their golden complexions and ominous expressions, and the room was devoid of any revelers. This was a private meeting, where great pains had been taken to conceal the matter at hand.
"You see, we are here on an errand from Emperor Uriel Septim VII, Dragonborn Emperor and heir of Talos," the ambassador's pompous accent intoned, "and we seek only to retrieve that which he has required of this people."
"We have paid our allotted tax amounts every year," Braelin offered, his congenial demeanor alight with panic.
"If gold were His Highness' goal, we would have gone to Alinor and spoken to Herself," the man replied, his prodigious girth shaking with each rumble of his haughty laughter. "We seek a certain individual, born on a certain day under a certain sign. That person will be transported to the Imperial City under guard to be introduced to the Emperor Himself. It is a very simple errand."
"But it must not be so simple, sir, for if it were so you would have simply taken that person from their home and transported them elsewhere. What I do not understand is why you need to involve me, if your task is supposedly so cut and dry," her father said amiably, though she could hear the anxiety in his tight tone.
Carmiene shifted uneasily. The only reason they would speak to the mayor would be—
"We seek a child born under the sign of the Mage."
Carmiene exhaled a breath in relief. Many Altmer children were purposefully conceived to be born under the Mage sign, especially in Balineri. That was not at all uncommon; the Imperial could be here for half of the town, including her entire family.
"You may have your pick of them, for nearly half of the residents in our humble town were born so. You have the Emperor's command, so do as you have been bidden. You need not involve me in your affair," Braelin said dismissively with a wave of his hand, though his strained voice said otherwise.
The Imperial's eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. "Only one can fulfill His Majesty's requirement. This is a high honor, one any Altmer from a backwater town such as this would be thankful for. You know for whom we have come. You know the stories."
"You will not take my daughter without bloodshed," her father said, his hands slamming the mahogany table. "You have only a few moments before battlemages arrive to turn you to dust."
"Take her," the Imperial ordered, gathering his sweeping crimson velvet cloak behind him. He pulled a cuff from a pocket inside his silk vest, opening it with a sharp, tinny click. Swords were drawn and poised to strike, shields raised to parry. Her father's bared teeth glinted in the light of his glowing aura, and just as he lifted his hand to let off a fiery bolt of magicka, Carmiene burst through the door.
"I will go!"
"Carmiene-!"
"No, my daughter, this spells only certain doom!" her father pleaded. "These men mean only to dump you into the hands of the Empire for a bounty, and you will end up imprisoned until they decide what to do with you!" The blades of fire lengthened as his focus attuned.
"I will go," she repeated, quietly this time. "Father, call off the mages, send the guard away, I will go with this man to see the Emperor. This is my chance, and I will take it, no matter the cost."
"Bid your daughter goodbye, Braelin. We will leave as soon as she can prepare her things."
Braelin's hands fell to his sides. Her brother's firm jaw went slack and his mouth fell open. Carmiene knew what she had done. She had defied her father and turned her back on her family as soon as she assented to go. She expected no parting sentiments, and she was given none. She turned to face her father, whose features wore only exhaustion and disappointment.
"I cannot save my daughter from a fate she so desperately wishes to meet. She has chosen a path not laid out for her by her people. She is a traitor to her home and to me; I have nothing to say to such an individual. Azura save you, my child, for I will not." His words were bitter. Carmiene expected no less from her proud father.
"Carmiene, how could you?" Quaranir's voice shook and died, tears freely falling from his eyes.
"If I stayed, they would send their armies, and everything I care about would be destroyed. My life for yours, brother, and gladly. Maybe my father will see that before he meets Auri-El," Carmiene whispered.
The Imperial wrapped his fat paw around her thin wrist and clamped the cuff around it. Immediately Carmiene felt as if her magicka had just begun dripping from her body, and a weary sensation pervaded her senses. Her very natural force began to abate, and she sank to her knees, exhausted. The guards picked her up, and she leaned her head against the nearest breastplate, and thought no more.